


Gidchell oneshots

by Natallee_Kae



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29897583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natallee_Kae/pseuds/Natallee_Kae
Summary: Assorted oneshots of my fave bois
Relationships: Gideon/Jack Mitchell (Call of Duty)
Kudos: 2





	Gidchell oneshots

He shuffled into a storage locker. It was just big enough for his body, like a tombstone. He could see out of a gap, into the room which he hadn’t examined when he rushed in. Light flooding through the opaque windows from the full moon reflected off the metal from a dirty hospital bed five meters in front of him. The sheets were grey and dusty. The mattress was grotesquely bloody. Adjacent to it was a surgeon table. The moonlight gave a taunting glimmer against metallic implements. Mitchell pressed his back further into the cramped space, feeling sweat drip down his back and neck.

Out in the hall he could hear it. _Stomp_. Footsteps, regular, one after the other. _Stomp_. They were controlled, calculated. Too big of a gap between steps for a regular person. _Stomp._ It was as if they were walking that way intentionally, to scare Mitchell. To say “I’m walking so slow, you may as well run. Run, Mitchell. Run.” _Stomp_. Mitchell should have left the locker. Shouldn’t have let himself be cornered. _Stomp._ They were getting louder and louder each time. Mitchell could feel his own heartbeat throughout all of his body, a rhythm that was getting exponentially faster. A counter-beat to the ever approaching footsteps - _STOMP -_ right outside the room.

It stood there _too_ long. It knew he was there. It knew and it was standing there in glee. It was taunting him. It was waiting. Waiting for Mitchell to faint in terror. He sucked in a mouthful of air and held it in. For a few moments, he felt as though whatever it was outside had lost him. Then he could feel his lungs poking at him, asking him to succumb. Asking him to breathe. But Mitchell didn’t want to make any noise, so he kept his mouth closed. And then his brain was crying out. _Breathe, Mitchell._ But he didn’t let go. _Breath._ His lungs wailed. A hand met the doorknob. _Screeech._ The door was opening. _Breathe._ Don’t breathe. Don’t let it hear. _Breath! Breathe!_ God, he was going to faint. It hurt. He could feel himself slipping. _STOMP._ It hurts. _Breath! Breath!_ Don’t let go. STOMP.

“Jack!”

Suddenly, he had collided with reality. The force of the wake-up sent him flying him forward, gasping for air. Opening his mouth like a goldfish, he let in a harsh mouthful of sweet oxygen only to realize that he wasn’t actually air starved. He, however, couldn’t stop the gut reaction to continue ventilating.

He noticed the warm cage of a body around his, squeezing. Grasping at him, rubbing up and down his damp back. Feeling like a cackling hyena, he willed his body to let him calm down and slow. The hands pressed against his limbs and hushed softly in his ear.

“Breathe with me,” it said. Mitchell ears reached out to the steady pace of another’s lungs. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

The world returned in pieces. Firstly, Mitchell could feel and see the graceful form of his lover. Those sweeping hills of his arms were unmistakable, covered in a meadow of dark hair. Tough and gentle, like the hands of Eros. Those arms had snaked over Mitchell’s bare chest and were holding him like a life-jacket, preventing him from drowning in the bedsheets. He pushed himself back into the embrace. The sweat was slightly uncomfortable and it made him feel dirty, but he didn’t want to move the moment.

Instead, he breathed softly, still in time with Gideon. He listened to the familiar quiet of the bedroom and tapped in time with the wind symphony from the world outdoors, separated by only a glass pane. Mitchell was grateful for the cave he was in, under the blankets, in the warmth of Gideon’s arms.

Gideon placed his lips on the back of Mitchell’s neck, his breath raising the small hairs there. Mitchell laughed breathily. Gideon responded with an exhale; a wordless reply. Mitchell leaned his head on Gideon’s chest and closed his eyes contently.

“You there, mate?” rumbled a question that Mitchell could feel throughout his whole body. Though it was almost a whisper, he could hear the croakiness from sleep infiltrating his gruff voice. He loved that sound.

The vibration was calming, and Mitchell could only mumble in response.

“Mitchell.” Gideon said again, with a sterner edge. Mitchell groaned irritably.

He grumbled “Yep, I’m here,” and lifted a hand to rub at his eyes. “What time is it?” He could feel the man around him lean forward to check the digital alarm clock, and lean back into position.

“2:30,” he reported tersely before stopping to yawn melodramatically. Mitchell reached over and plucked one of Gideon’s hands. With light diligence, he traced the indents and outlines of his palm. Hardened from combat, his skin was rough, calloused and scarred. They were beautiful things that could inflict so much power if they wanted to, but instead held Mitchell gently and lovingly. He dragged his fingertips up to the tips of Gideon’s, and lightly pressed them together. The skin up there was the roughest, almost totally solid like the fingers of a guitar player who had pressed down on the fret all their life. Mitchell also had stiffened fingertips. Together, they had solidified. Both changed, but not broken. He intertwined their fingers.

“Do you want to talk about your dream?” His voice startled Mitchell out of his reverie, and he flinched. The hand in his squeezed reassuringly.

He huffed. “Nothing special. I was just being chased. Usual.” Gideon could easily translate the vague response to ‘no,’ and pressed a kiss to the back of his head where his long hair clumped and tangled.

“Monster?” He asked teasingly, waiting cautiously to make sure he wasn’t pushing any boundaries. Mitchell snorted and shook his head.

“No. Well maybe. I don’t know.”

Outside, the wind whistled through the branches of the oak tree in their backyard. The clutches of winter left the trees bare. Somewhere out in the suburban wildlands, a dog barked. The wind swallowed the sound and died down, leaving a calming puff to fill the night-quietness. 

“Are you going back to sleep?” 

“Probably not,” Mitchell said without much emotion, despite his dread for tiredness he would feel in the morning. He was volunteering tomorrow, so he would need energy. Coffee was going to have to be his lifeblood, he supposed.

Gideon leant forward and kissed Mitchell’s cheek then separated from him. Picking up the edges of the sheets, he shook them out so they were straightened, and settled underneath them. Opening his arms and lifting the sheets, he welcomed Mitchell into an embrace. Mitchell smiled, and accepted the invitation. He shuffled into the space between Gideon’s arm and the mattress, and placed his face into the crook of his neck.

It was warm, like a fireplace. There’s something about a fireplace that induces a sense of calm. Mitchell couldn’t help but feel at peace.


End file.
